The Mom Stop: Let’s hear it for the boy

When I answered my cellphone while I was at work last week, I could hear the sound of crying on the other end of the phone. Someone very dear to me was on the other end, in tears.

She was fine, her family was fine. Her job was going well, they have a beautiful home and a beautiful life that is close to perfect. She had just received happy news, but somehow found herself in tears.

“I called you because I knew you’d understand,” my loved one -- whom I won’t name -- told me.

“The doctor just called,” she said, her voice cracking, trying to fight back the tears. “I’m having a boy.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I knew how she felt, because I had been in her shoes. I remember feeling so thankful to be pregnant again after having a loss, but then being blindsided, too, when we found out that the baby I suspected was a “she” was actually a “he.”

I grew up in a family of strong women, and in a house with just my mom, my sister and me. As a kid, when I imagined my future, I envisioned a gaggle of girls.

And when we had our first child, our oldest daughter, I was never worried about not knowing what to do. I knew how to raise a daughter -- or at least I thought I did. But a boy? I had no clue.

I was laying perched up on a table hidden by a curtain at the North Alabama State Fairgrounds -- the same room they use for pie contests and awarding the blue ribbons to the best canned okra -- when I first found out I was having a boy.

I’m not sure what is more “Alabama” than that.

An ultrasound tech was offering a special to expectant moms during a regional consignment sale and baby expo. I wanted my mom and sister to be there with my husband and I as we found out the sex of our second child.

I can still see my husband’s crestfallen face as he heard the word “boy.” I knew he was hoping for another “daddy’s girl.” I remember putting on a brave face, of being happy to hear a healthy heartbeat again, of trying to imagine my future with a lot more blue and a little less pink.

But as my husband and I pulled out of the fairground’s gravel parking lot, I broke down in tears. I was fearful of what kind of “boy” mom would I make. But I felt embarrassed and shameful, too, for feeling the way that I did.

If only I knew what joy our son would bring. If only I knew how lucky I was, how much boys love their mamas. If I had only known that we’d be blessed with a boy who was every bit as sweet as he was “rough and tumble;” a boy who would go from playing “Star Wars storm troopers” at the neighborhood park to curling up in my lap and cuddling as soon as he got home; a boy who would think of others before himself, who would often pick dandelions for me on his way to the bus stop.

If only I had known then what joy having a son would bring to my life. But I didn’t -- not yet.

And so, when my dear friend called me in tears, I knew exactly how she felt. I had been there, too.

But I couldn’t contain the excitement for her.“A year from now, you won’t be able to imagine it any other way,” I said.

Correction: In last week’s column, I wrote that “Happy Days” actress Erin Moran died of skin cancer, after it was reported that she died of squamous cell carcinoma. While squamous cell carcinoma is the second most common form of skin cancer, it also can occur in other areas of the body. Moran’s cancer originated in her throat. I apologize for the mistake.

-- Lydia Seabol Avant writes The Mom Stop for The Tuscaloosa News. Reach her at lydia.seabolavant@tuscaloosanews.com.